


A Pointed Affair

by CocksAndClocks



Category: RWBY
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Class Differences, Enemies to Lovers, Fencing, First Kiss, Fluff and Humor, Happy Ending, M/M, Mild Language, POV Third Person, Sexual Humor, Swordfighting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-18 02:29:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21920347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CocksAndClocks/pseuds/CocksAndClocks
Summary: Beacon Preparatory Academy boasts a prestigious fencing team led by champion Ozpin Pine, a graduating senior with Olympic dreams. Enter Qrow Branwen, an unpolished new student whosenouveau richeair lends a foul aroma to the upper class club. Both boys will have to put aside their class judgments and assumptions if they're going to be on a team together, let alone be friends - or something more.
Relationships: Qrow Branwen/Ozpin
Comments: 21
Kudos: 48





	A Pointed Affair

**Author's Note:**

> Happy OzQrow Secret Santa! This one is for nashiraneko on Tumblr!
> 
> Prompt: "Sucks, doesn't it?"
> 
> Author note: Please always wear a mask whilst fencing. <3

“Next pair!”

Ozpin Pine heard the coach’s call and lifted his eyes from adjusting his shoes on the bench. With the flick of his wrist, he tucked the black feather into his right sock, pulling the elastic of the band over it, a hand smoothing it into place. 

_One._

Ozpin rose, smoothing his vest, his mask tucked under his arm, counting off four breaths.

_Two._

And the third –

“A feather?” came the oily voice of his opponent. “Is lucky underwear too pedestrian?”

Ozpin dropped his eyes to the smug look on Jacques Schwarz’s face.

“No,” Ozpin said evenly. “They’re emerald.”

_Three._

The recipe for a match victory.

Not that Ozpin would need it against Jacques Schwarz, the student at Beacon Preparatory Academy here on a fencing scholarship – a scholarship that Ozpin thought felt rather in jeopardy, if he didn’t show improvement soon.

And he wouldn’t find it today. Not against Ozpin Pine, team captain and resident champion, with a currently undefeated season. 

_Future Olympian._

Well. If he could book the right coach.

“Ozpin!” Jacques seized his mask from the bench and hurried after him. “Have you given it any thought? My suggestion?”

“I have no interest in _letting_ you win,” Ozpin said, searching for his weapon on the wall rack. “You will have to rely on your talent alone.”

“Ozpin, please,” Jacques pressed. “If I don’t win a practice match, Coach will never let me into the championship, and my scholarship – ”

“There are worse things than losing a scholarship.”

“You don’t know my father,” Jacques muttered.

“And you don’t know mine.” Ozpin took his epée in hand and flicked his wrist, Jacques watching the movement closely.

“I understand better than most,” he said, still eyeing the weapon. “An only child, certain expectations, a family name to uphold – are you certain you want to use the epée today?”

“Yes,” Ozpin said. “I assume you practiced with yours?”

“Oh, well – ”

“And I don’t recall your family having a name to uphold,” Ozpin said.

Jacques flushed to his dark roots. “Fine,” he spat. “I didn’t bribe my way into the scholarship, and I’ll show you that today.”

“If you would be so kind.”

Better than another easy victory against an opponent who put more effort into cheating than practicing.

“Ozpin! Jacques! _Today,_ if you please!”

“Good luck,” Ozpin said, turning toward the piste, pulling on his mask early to avoid the plaintive hissing whispers following him.

Jacques hurried after him, taking his place on the piste, his miserable expression vanishing under his mask.

Ozpin saluted first, certain that Jacques returned it with a string of internal curses.

“En garde!”

Ozpin’s body took the stance automatically, focused on the weight of his epée in hand.

“Prêts?”

“Sir!” came the synchronized reply.

“Allez!"

Jacques attacked at once, Ozpin countering with ease, following with his own offensive; Jacques’ weapon dropped toward Ozpin’s foot, exposing, for a moment, the flesh of his wrist –

“Halte! Point – Pine!”

Ozpin snorted under his mask. This was child’s play – not a match between two champions.

“En garde!”

The next bouts were hardly different; Jacques was desperate and over-aggressive, his moves becoming increasingly sloppy with each phrase, Ozpin making points without thinking. The fifth bout lasted only a few seconds, Ozpin making a point almost instantly when Jacques made a wild swing, the epée striking him squarely in the chest.

“Halte! Point – Pine!”

Jacques swore loudly, and Ozpin whipped the mask from his face.

“I think five is adequate,” he announced, striding off the piste before the coach could protest. 

He sat down on the bench and reached beneath it for his water bottle, his other hand rising to wipe his brow before realizing, irritated, that he hadn’t even broken a sweat.

“Well,” drawled a voice from beside him. “Wasn’t that…”

“Pathetic,” Ozpin finished. “Care to offer me a challenge, Arthur?”

“Oh, no,” Arthur Watts said, laughing darkly. “I value my life more than that, given your…frustrations.”

“What do you know about my frustrations?”

“You’re bored – any idiot can see that.”

Ozpin sighed, leaning back. “I made this team,” he said quietly. “Four years of building this team from nothing. Three championships. And this team…”

“Pathetic,” Arthur agreed.

“You don’t seem offended.”

“Ozpin, I joined so that my mother wouldn’t ban me from the science club. I’m only here until June, and then I’ll attend a pre-med college without her knowledge. But until then?” Arthur gave an exaggerated shrug. “We are _all_ our parents’ prisoners.”

Ozpin sighed again. “I wanted to build a legacy.”

“You will. You did. Coach says you’ll make it to the Olympics one day.”

“Not if I’m playing against amateurs.” Ozpin glanced at his teammate. “Did you say you were bringing a new member in?”

“Yes, and in poor taste, he hasn’t shown. Perhaps he saw you decimate poor Jacques and turned his tail.”

Ozpin groaned softly.

“A social experiment,” Arthur commented, disinterested. “Clearly, not my field of science.”

Ozpin pushed himself off the bench, too agitated to remain seated. “I have an English paper to finish anyway,” he said. “Tell Jacques – and your friend, should he show – that I’m offering them extra lessons.”

“Out of the goodness of your heart?” Arthur said sardonically.

“Well.” Ozpin glanced at where Coach was lecturing Jacques’ wilted form. “As you said – we’re all prisoners. But perhaps working together will yield an easier escape.”

⁂

Arthur read the sparring line-up for the day with disinterest; his name was slated against both Peter Port and Ozpin himself.

_Not that I have the slightest chance of winning either._

Well. Not through _legal_ means.

But he was better than Jacques in every conceivable way, fencing included. Besides, Arthur wasn’t here on a scholarship, so it hardly mattered if he lost today.

“Ah, the future Doctor Watts!”

Arthur almost struck the wall with the force of the clap on his back, Peter Port laughed uproariously as he steadied himself.

“Ready to do battle, Arthur?”

“Eh,” Arthur said, already tired thinking about Port’s aggressive style. “That may be up in the air.” He motioned to the lanky form loitering in the doorway.

“Oh ho!” Port whirled about, squinting. “A new recruit?”

“Bait,” Arthur said, but Port was already on his way to drag the newbie inside.

“What’s all this?” Ozpin said, appearing at his side, brushing silver hair from his eyes. “Your friend decided to grace us with his presence?”

“Seems so.”

“Are you going to introduce him?”

Arthur watched Port pull the stumbling student forward, shoving him at Ozpin. “Captain! Our greenest member! Well, unless you count yourself and your lucky underwear! Oh ho ho!”

“Charmed,” Ozpin said, straightening his vest and adjusting his disturbed glasses.

He looked, Arthur thought in amusement, utterly unimpressed.

“Ozpin Pine, captain.” He offered a hand. 

“Branwen.” The trim boy lifted his hand in some archaic salute before taking Ozpin’s in a firm shake.

 _All theater,_ Arthur thought, delighted. He wished for a bucket of popcorn for this interaction.

“Branwen?” Ozpin repeated. “The tech startup family. I’m…”

Arthur nearly laughed aloud at watching Ozpin struggle for a polite remark to follow the realization that Qrow Branwen was freshly arrived here, at Beacon Academy, because of something as tragically _nouveau riche_ as being an entrepreneur’s son.

Ozpin eyed Qrow Branwen up and down, eyes narrowing as he, no doubt, tried to guess at the type of opponent he would face.

“Are you experienced at fencing?”

“Formally? Nope,” he smirked.

“No?” Ozpin said, composure faltering. “What exactly does that mean?”

“It means no. Nay, nay, good sir. You know, the opposite of yes.”

Ozpin’s eyes narrowed again, this time with irritation. “I meant – what does ‘not formally’ mean? Can you fence or not?”

“Sure I can.” Qrow picked up the closest foil, testing the flexibility of it with both hands. “Stick ‘em with the pointy end, right?”

Ozpin let out a short breath and shot Arthur a dark look. “I assumed,” he said, his tone calculatedly even, “that when you said you recruited a friend, he knew how to fence.”

_Oh, dear. I think I’m in trouble._

Better to spar against Ozpin with words than swords, however.

“You’re more than welcome to test him yourself,” Arthur remarked with a careless shrug. “He’s better than he looks.”

Qrow grinned at the backhanded compliment. “Yeah, what’s the matter? Scared of impugning your honor by soiling your posh white gloves with a peasant’s blood? Bet they’re lined with Vicuña wool.”

“I – ” Ozpin reached for words, taken aback by Qrow’s impertinence. Or, Arthur mused, all amusement, perhaps Qrow wasn’t wrong about the gloves.

“If you’re interested in a match, I’m happy to oblige,” Ozpin deadpanned. “I’ll be so kind as to allow you to choose the weapon.”

“This one’ll do,” Branwen shook the foil in his hand.

“You don’t – ” Ozpin turned to Arthur. “He doesn’t even know what they’re called!”

“Is that a problem?” asked Arthur, who knew it was.

“I’m not going to fight someone who doesn’t belong here,” Ozpin said. “It’s a waste of time.”

Branwen scoffed unceremoniously loud enough to halt the room – he had proved the afternoon entertaining in the least, Arthur thought.

“As I thought. Too high and fuckin’ mighty. Well, I’m out.” Branwen shot Ozpin a glare, shoving the foil back on the rack with enough force that several boys flinched at the roughness.

“Asking that my members understand the basics of their sport is hardly high and mighty,” Ozpin said coldly.

“What, afraid my lunge will be too strong for your parry? Your riposte not robust enough to withstand some uneducated noob? Well, you can take your epée and shove it up your – “

“Get out.”

Arthur raised his eyebrows, studying the angry pink spots on Ozpin’s cheeks.

“Back to practice!” Ozpin snapped, and the team dispersed instantly, clamoring to avoid their captain’s mood. 

“And you,” Ozpin said, lowering his voice at Arthur. “Never bring another recruit again.” He gave Qrow a dark look, wrenched the abused foil from the rack and Qrow’s unpracticed reach, and stalked off to the piste, where Peter Port looked genuinely intimidated.

“Tch.” Qrow glowered at him for a moment before turning on his heel. 

Arthur thought of stopping him, but he couldn’t think of any excuse that would keep Qrow and Ozpin in the same room together.

“Pansy!” Qrow yelled over his shoulder as the door closed in his wake.

Arthur’s eyebrows rose even further, biting his lip to prevent from laughing while the other boys in the room looked shocked. Arthur knew that Ozpin, even as he gave the dramatic exit no notice, felt it more deeply than anyone.

⁂

Qrow Branwen raked his hands through his hair for the thousandth time that day.

_How dare he._

_How_ dare _he._

Pine wasn’t hot enough for that kind of attitude.

 _Well,_ Qrow mused. 

He was hot enough for some of it.

Not that Qrow didn’t expect that exact outcome. He knew he started it, but he still had his stupid hopes with their stupid dreams that he might – just _might_ make a friend in this new hell hole. 

The fuck was he thinking?

Of course, no one was going to give him the time of day – an average kid raised in a lower-middle class household who probably got rich off the lottery in their eyes. Never mind the fact that their school was now sporting the newest software his parents created. How the hell was he supposed to know some stupid idea over the dinner table one night would turn into hundreds of millions of dollars overnight?

_Fuuuuuuck._

_I guess they’re right. It is like winning the lottery. But at least my parents fucking worked their asses off for it, unlike these thankless rich little bastards._

Qrow shook his head, tangling his fingers into the mess, and pulling tight to pluck the thoughts free of his mind.

_Whatever. Can’t make friends if you don’t try. Buckle up, Branwen. We can do this. And if we can’t, stick ‘em with the pointy end like Arya Stark._

Maybe Pine would accept an apology with whatever grace his money could buy.

With a last heavy sigh, Qrow pushed open the doors to the fencing club he had stormed out of hours earlier. He surveyed the room, spotting only the hot moody captain remaining, cleaning equipment from the day’s lessons.

_Thank god, only one of them…but fuck it had to be him. Captain Prissy Pants._

“You missed a saber.”

“It’s a f – ” Pine looked up, the words automatic, cut off by the recognition of the guy who wrecked his practice. “Can I…help you? Branwen, is it?”

“Ye-yeah,” Qrow cleared his throat, frowning at his own disposition. 

_Upright, asshole. Can’t let him knock you down yet,_ he thought raising his chin, striding over to brandish the missed equipment.

“A foil then?” he said inspecting it. “What’s the difference?”

“…you really don’t know?”

_Not everyone went to Charm School, jackass._

Still, Pine’s tone wasn’t really mean – more along the lines of mystified disbelief. 

“Nope,” Qrow said out loud. “I mean, I know there’s a foil, a saber, and an epée for fencing. But I always preferred the Celtic longsword.”

Ozpin stared. For a long time. Qrow shifted under the stare, trying not to think about how Pine’s brown eyes turned gold in the sunlight.

“Did you say…longsword?” he asked at last.

“You sure have a hard time hearing. What’s the matter, do you need to clean your ears, or are they just too good for me?”

 _Wrong again, Branwen. Friends. “F-R-I-E-N-D-S that’s how you fucking spell ‘friends.’ F-R-I-E-N-D-S get that shit inside your head.”_ Qrow cursed at himself, knowing he would have Marshmello stuck in his head for the remainder of the day.

“Sorry. Yeah. Longswords. They were kinda my specialty,” he said, smiling faintly, recalling better days spent in rainy fields with his friends – beating the ever-living crap out of each other with their newest LARP gear. 

Brennus, Qrow’s character, was a longsword master and Celtic mercenary who drank much and cursed more. Built like a tank, he acted more like a rogue-hybrid with his dexterity stats. For full intimidation, Brennus spiked his hair into horns and wore feather trimmed armor to showcase is ability to avoid damage in battle. He even had his own warcry – “Buaidh no bas!” – “Victory, or death!” 

Extra as hell, Qrow knew, but YOLO.

_Those were the days…_

“Oh. I – oh.” Pine paused as though carefully considering his words. “I apologize – I am hearing you. It’s just that the words that come out of your mouth are so unusual that I’m sure I hear them incorrectly. Where on earth did you learn how to fight with a sword if not in fencing?”

“LARPing. Mostly self-taught, but aced the panels at cons I could afford to get into.”

Pine stared again. For even longer.

“Now I’m not sure I heard you,” he said. “I’m not sure…what any of that means.”

“Oh. Right. Uh…LARPing is a type of role playing. It’s were you dress up like a character you want to be, then live out their life for a few hours. Eat what they would, talk like they would, walk like they would, pick fights like they would. It’s fun.”

Qrow mentally slapped himself for each sentimental tear he heard in his pathetic voice. The hell his brazen Celtic warrior would stand for this. He’d rather –

_Focus, Branwen._

“Oh. Pine looked thoughtful. “So you _do_ have actual sword skills. Well. I suppose we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot. Perhaps you could be useful.”

Qrow’s eyebrow shot up skeptically. “Is usin’ people all you rich are good at?” 

Hearing his own words, Qrow cursed again, passing the foil to Ozpin so he could run his hand through his tangles for the thousand and first time. 

“That’s…not what I meant. I mean. It was, but. Fuck. What did you mean?”

“I may come from a wealthy family, but this is my team,” Pine said stiffly. “I built it and while it may not look like it now, we’ve won championships the last three years. I have one more opportunity for it this year, even if I have to single-handedly carry my team there.”

“Cocky much? Brennus would approve. You might be fun to poke with my longsword.”

Pine rolled his eyes, placing the last of the foils back on the rack. “Wanting to leave a legacy is not _cocky,”_ he said. “And never mind about joining. I don’t have the time to teach you the basics while carrying those who already know them.”

 _Touched a nerve,_ Qrow thought. _He’s kinda fun to ruffle._

He glanced at Pine’s silver hair, disheveled from his mask.

_Cute, under all that pretentious crap._

“’Even if I have to single-handedly carry my team there.’ That. That’s cocky,” Qrow smirked, rounding Ozpin to lock eyes. “Lunge, parry, riposte. Aim for the chest,” he enunciated pointedly, marking his aim on Ozpin’s chest with his finger.

“I’m not looking to be convinced,” Pine said, taking Qrow’s hand and moving it away from his chest. “And it’s not cocky if it’s true. My best teammates have graduated. The rest either don’t care or don’t have the talent.”

Qrow smirked, fingers clasping tightly on Ozpin’s hand.

The smirk grew to a grin when Pine’s cheeks flushed pink.

“Fine. One round. If I suck, I’ll leave. If I’m good, you put me on the team and spare with me for fun – training. For training. And I’ll help you win whatever championship you want.”

“You cannot be serious,” Pine said, startled by Qrow’s proximity. “I have studying to do, if you don’t mind.”

_Oh, now you’re just being an ass._

Qrow grabbed a foil and assumed the position – 

_Feet: ninety degrees, three feet apart; knees: bent; sword arm: forty-five degrees front. Chance of winning: fuck it. I wanna poke him with a stick._

“I challenge you to a duel, Ozpin Pine. Pick it up, I dare you. _Pansy._ ”

 _“Pansy?”_ Ozpin repeated, looking, in Qrow’s opinion, comically offended. “I’m not inclined to rise to childish insults.”

“Pansy _chicken.”_

The foil whipped through the air in a blur of silver. 

“That’s enough!” Ozpin said, his voice raising. “I’ve had enough of your ignorant, insufferable commentary about me and my team. If you want to fight me, at the very least, do not be boring.”

Ozpin offered a brief salute; Qrow imitated it.

_Just like the tournaments at the Renaissance Faire._

“Shouldn’t we be wearing masks?” he asked.

“This won’t take long,” Ozpin said. “When you’re ready.”

Qrow attacked first, lunging forward, foil pointed at Ozpin’s chest. The counter came instantly, Ozpin blocking and moving back to distance himself, raising an eyebrow as though surprised by Qrow’s boldness.

“Surprised I didn’t go down on the first counter?” Qrow taunted, inching forward.

“You will soon enough.”

“I prefer the bed, but the counter works. Your place, or mine?”

Ozpin stumbled, narrowing avoiding the slice of Qrow’s foil, recovering enough to deflect it from his shoulder. 

“You’re crude,” he said, accenting the word with a swipe back. “Brutish – uncultured – ”

“Alluring, rakish, irresistible…”

“Who’s cocky now?”

“Cocks again? You really do want me to go down on you.”

Ozpin faltered again, shooting Qrow a glare from above dark pink cheeks.

“You won’t win by distracting me.” 

“Distracting you? I was serious. I bet you want me between your thighs, languidly crawling up your body, ready to – “ 

Ozpin’s attack came without warning, Qrow cursing internally as he leapt out of the way, out of the bounds of the piste.

“I don’t think you’re playing by the rules anymore,” he panted, the foils connecting again.

“You’re vile,” Ozpin spat.

“And you’re not denying you want it.”

Ozpin made an angry noise, another rash swipe in Qrow’s direction. He followed Qrow’s steps now, his attacks calculated despite his temper, clearly a talented swordsman – and a hell of a lot of fun to mess with.

Not to mention how hot it was to watch Pine completely lose it.

Qrow turned on his heel mid-escape, his foil shrieking as it connected with Ozpin’s. They were atop each other now, foils and bodies pressed together, Qrow feeling Ozpin’s hot breath on his face. Qrow pushed against him but Ozpin held his stance, the foils shaking with the force of their bodies, Qrow inching his knee forward to earn any advantage possible –

_Holy shit._

_I was just kidding._

_But he’s –_

“Are you turned on?”

Ozpin recoiled, face flushing red.

“How dare you imply – ”

But Qrow grinned, foil lunging forward again, breaking off Ozpin’s protest.

“Admit it,” he panted, leaping backward to avoid a reckless swipe at his torso. “You’re having fun.”

He could have sworn he saw Ozpin smile for half a second before the clash of their weapons. 

“You’re certainly not boring,” Ozpin said, breathless as Qrow countered yet another strike.

_He’s totally into me._

But he wasn’t going to lose until they fought for hours.

Qrow met Ozpin’s next attack head-on, foils grinding against one another, and before Ozpin could withdraw –

Qrow craned his neck forward and pressed his mouth to Ozpin’s, the captain’s eyes widening. For a moment, Qrow was sure Ozpin would push him off and _really_ aim to maim him – 

The foil in Ozpin’s hand faltered, weakening until it lowered completely, Qrow watching Ozpin’s eyes flutter closed, lips returning the kiss willingly, pressing his mouth against Qrow with more force than Qrow ever expected.

_Hot._

A fantastic kiss, and one that Qrow was reluctant to end for the sake of principle. 

Almost.

He pushed Ozpin against the wall, hearing his foil clatter to the ground, lifting his own to under Ozpin’s chin.

Ozpin froze, brown eyes wide, cheeks pink, chest heaving.

“Buaidh!”

Ozpin stared, eyes unblinking behind his glasses. His lips parted but for several seconds he said nothing. And when he did –

“You’re the strangest person I’ve ever met.”

“Thank you,” Qrow beamed with pride. “I won.”

“Well, I – ”

“Sucks, don’ it?”

“We hardly adhered to standard rules,” Ozpin protested.

“You ever stop bein’ prissy?” Qrow asked, his hand, still clutching Ozpin’s jacket, pulling him closer as though to emphasize his point.

“Do you ever use manners?”

“You’re ruinin’ the moment,” Qrow murmured, dropping his foil and kissing Ozpin again. This time, the captain didn’t look surprised, no pretentious complaints, his arms wrapping around Qrow to pull him closer.

“Maybe fencing club isn’t so bad,” Qrow said into Ozpin’s lips.

Ozpin laughed, his body vibrating against Qrow. “I aim to impress.”

“Oh, I’m impressed.” Qrow pushed against him, eliciting another laugh from Ozpin.

“Where did you learn those moves?”

“I learned a lot from porn – ”

“Your _swordsmanship,”_ Ozpin interrupted, blushing brightly and striking him gently on the arm.

“You know what they say about crossing swords…” Qrow chucked at the look earned from Ozpin. “Alright, alright. Growing up I participated in a lot of Renaissance Faire tournaments – small ones in the first, but my debut at the biggest one in on the west coast landed me a famous mentor – the Grim Reaper. I trained under her for a few months each year until I took gold in my divisions. Now I can spar with the best of the best, even if I can’t always win.”

“…the Grim Reaper?” Ozpin asked, a judgmental eyebrow rising.

“That’s what everyone in the circuit calls her. Maria Calavera.”

“Cala – ” Ozpin hit his arm again, this time less jokingly. “She’s an _Olympic champion._ I’m on the waitlist to train with her once I reach college!” 

“Huh. She’s a complete history nerd. Really into the master-swordsman-poor-talented-apprentice thing. No wonder she was always called me her pet project. Said she liked my pizzazz.”

“Pizzazz doesn’t win Olympic matches,” Ozpin grumbled.

“They at least make them more fun to watch, and that’s what Ren Faires are all about.”

Ozpin narrowed his eyes at Qrow. “Teach me,” he said. “Teach me what you know, introduce me to Maria. And I’ll give you private lessons so that you won’t make a complete fool of yourself when we reach the championships.”

_Private lessons? Championships. For real?_

“You’re serious?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Ozpin said, surprised. “I’d do anything to train with Maria Calavera.”

_”Do anything…”_

_Do not make an innuendo. Don’t bribe him. This is not some stupid fanfiction trope, Branwen. We are not enemies to lovers with a dash of blackmail. This is real life. Real life when a hot guy who doesn’t like me wants a little side action, but only after I hook him up with my connections…Oh god, we are a fucking fanfiction trope._

“Fine. But first we go on a date. Then you can have your way with me to help you win your championships.”

 _Oops. This is fine. Filthy rich heirs like bribes. And I want to do some other kind of penetrating,_ Qrow thought dragging his eyes across Ozpin’s body in admiration.

The blush returned, Ozpin’s gaze flickering down.

“I…I suppose that is a fair trade,” he murmured, very quietly. “Although I’m sure I can’t take you anywhere where you have to know the proper use of silverware…”

“Watch it on the date, or I’ll fork you while we’re spooning,” Qrow teased.

Ozpin’s laugh escaped before he could politely squash it. He cleared his throat, tossing his hair from his eyes. “So long as you know how to polish them properly.”

“Long, deep strokes, right?” Qrow whispered into Ozpin’s ear.

He felt Ozpin shiver against him, two hands quickly pushing him away.

“Buy me dinner first,” Ozpin said, with a lot of confidence for someone _that_ red. “Or rather,” he added, softer, one hand trailing down Qrow’s arm, fingers brushing his palm, “perhaps I can treat this time.”

Qrow couldn’t help but grin. “Sounds like a date.”

He took Ozpin’s shy hand and pulled him from the wall, toward the door, thinking that maybe he had just won his own lottery.


End file.
